


could i easily fill his shoes?

by intimatopia



Category: Given (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Emotional Infidelity, Humiliation, M/M, Requited Love, not a fic that's happy or kind to ugetsu & akihiko but especially ugetsu, open/ambiguous ending, referenced rape, which figures because i wrote this to hurt him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22070224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia/pseuds/intimatopia
Summary: Haruki hears his name from Akihiko at the worst possible moment.
Relationships: Kaji Akihiko/Murata Ugetsu, Satou Mafuyu/Uenoyama Ritsuka, pre-slash Kaji Akihiko/Nakayama Haruki
Comments: 7
Kudos: 165





	could i easily fill his shoes?

**Author's Note:**

> ended the old decade with fyoyazai fluff and starting the new one by fucking over ugetsu. what can i say - i took one look at his dazai osamu-esque face and my kinnie instincts fired up and told me to hurt him. so. yeah.

“Can you swing by my place to pick up the file for the concert later?” Akihiko asked. Haruki, busy packing up his bass guitar, nodded without turning. He knew where Akihiko lived—had been there a couple times to practice or do homework when his own apartment felt like it fit all wrong.

“What time?” he remembered to call as Akihiko left the room.

Akihiko paused. “I’m home all day,” he said. Haruki watched the muscles in his shoulders shift as he shrugged, entranced. “Come by anytime.”

“Right,” Haruki replied, too late. Dazed. “Anytime.”

—★—

Anytime, as it turned out, was nearly nine. He’d left work late, been put on closing duty against his will, met Take-chan outside the shop. They’d chatted over a smoke before Haruki made his excuses, heart skipping uncomfortably over the thought of going to Akihiko’s place so late in the day. It was usually the other way around—Akihiko coming to _his_ place, Akihiko spending the night in his flat before he left early in the morning like he had to pretend to himself that he’d spent the night at home.

Haruki had never seen the point of that charade, but he was hardly in a position to complain. For all that he loved having Akihiko in his space, he made it hard to think and harder to sleep. Even after he left sometimes Haruki spent minutes staring off into space, trying to remember what he’d been doing before the interruption.

Akihiko, Haruki remembered, lived in the basement. He rang the bell first and found it switched off, huffed to himself and tried to call Akihiko to bother him into opening the door.

The phone rang for a few minutes before giving up. Haruki considered his options carefully: first, give up and go home. Explain the matter to Akihiko tomorrow. Second, try the door. See if it was unlocked. Pick up the file and leave, whether or not Akihiko was home. Explain the matter tomorrow.

Well. He’d come _this_ far, hadn’t he?

When he tried the door, it opened easily. Swung into a darkened corridor.

Haruki listened carefully. He could hear some kind of sound coming from the door, but that wasn’t where Akihiko kept his laptop...right?

God, he _really_ hoped that wasn’t where Akihiko kept his laptop. Those were definitely sex noises, and Haruki’s ears were burning as he listened because he couldn’t seem to _stop._ Of fucking _course_ Akihiko sounded that good even while having sex—all soft grunts and hissed expletives.

“—take that, you pretty slut—”

“—no, Aki I’m _close_ I’m not—please _touch_ me—”

Haruki’s stomach turned. Whoever that voice was—he felt like he’d heard it before somewhere—that was _not_ the tone of someone simply enjoying themselves. Too much desperation for that, too much certainty that pain was just around the corner. He paused, unable to get his feet to move again.

“—if you wanted me to _touch_ you you shouldn’t have been such a little _whore_ after that concert, Murata. No one could have told you had a man at home, the way you flirted with every guy that night.”

“I’m sorry,” Murata sobbed. “I’m sorry, I was _bad_ —I shouldn’t have—”

“Damn right you _shouldn’t have_ ,” Akihiko hissed.

Haruki’s hands were shaking. He wanted to leave. He shouldn’t have _been_ here in the first place, listening to any of this. And he knew, of course, that the things people said while having sex were not representative of what they were actually like. For all he knew, Murata just got off harder on humiliation than anything else and Akihiko was being the good boyfriend Haruki had always believed he would be.

 _Fuck,_ he wanted to leave. But there was something rooting him in place, some obscure terror that what he was hearing was even _worse_ than it sounded. That this was the kind of crime he’d never thought he knew anyone capable of.

He wasn’t going to be able to look Akihiko in the eyes after this. He wasn’t going to be able to stand in the same goddamn _room_ as him.

“I’m close,” Murata whimpered. The knot in Haruki’s chest loosened slightly—maybe this was just a humiliation kink that ran too deep for any outsider’s comfort. “I want to come, Aki.”

“Then come like this,” Akihiko murmured, and the sudden gentleness in his voice eased Haruki’s nerves further. “Come on my dick, baby. I know you can.”

There was an exchange too low in volume for Haruki to follow, but judging by Murata’s loud moans, Akihiko had increased the pace of his fucking. Haruki could see it in his mind all too clearly, except in his head he was in Ugetsu’s place and Akihiko’s hands were fisted in Haruki’s hair and he’d breathe _“you pretty slut”_ into Haruki’s ear as his cock thrust deep inside him. Haruki shivered under the weight of his want.

He _should_ have left then. He felt certain he could, if he tried. Now that he was sure that Akihiko wasn’t hurting Murata—and how he hated himself for his momentary suspicion that his friend might do something like that. 

But now he was just curious, wanted to know what Akihiko would sound like as he came. Murata’s moans were starting to sound increasingly pornographic, and Haruki wondered if he truly sounded like that or if it was a show for Akihiko’s benefit. If Akihiko liked his partners to moan like twinks in a trashy porn movie. Wondered if he himself sounded like that enough to satisfy Akihiko’s tastes, but—

Fuck. Before this day he’d believed, down to his bones, that the reason he never stood a chance with Akihiko was because Akihiko was as straight and oblivious as they came. 

If Akihiko _wasn’t_ straight then that put everything he’d ever done to Haruki in a whole new light—no longer thoughtlessly intimate but depressingly heterosexual friendship but something more. Something with _potential._

There was a chance that Murata, whoever he was, was more than just a one-off fuck. That line about the concert certainly implied they knew each other outside a bedroom. Haruki wasn’t thinking that far ahead though, too euphoric on daydreams of successfully seducing Akihiko and getting what would be, judging by Murata’s soundtrack, some of the best dick of his life. Haruki almost couldn’t wait.

“Fuck,” Akihiko snarled softly, and Haruki’s attention returned to real life. Even though _this_ was his life. It beggared belief, it really did. “Fuck—I’m not gonna last—”

“That’s the idea,” Murata snapped. “Harder, c’mon—”

“ _Haruki,_ fuck—”

Haruki jumped, for a second convinced that there was someone behind him. But no, that had been _Akihiko’s_ voice, and—

Oh.

Oh, _shit._

This was forbidden knowledge, wasn’t it? After all Haruki had lectured Mafuyu and Ritsuka about the dangers of dating a bandmate while harboring a crush on the last (apparently single, apparently heterosexual, apparently _fucking neither_ ) member of their band. And he’d thought himself safe from temptation, due to said band member being supposedly _single_ and _heterosexual._ Of which he was _neither._

And not only was he _not_ single and heterosexual, he was also harboring some kind of feelings for Haruki.

For _him._ Haruki Nakayama.

And he’d gotten to _hear_ it.

 _God,_ he was going to be wanking to the sound of Akihiko moaning his name for a solid month. Or until his plan to seduce Akihiko went through. Whichever came first.

“Who the _hell_ is Haruki,” Murata said. Haruki realized there had been an awkward stretch of silence on the other side of the door, which his euphoria at having his crush requited had tided him over. And Murata, whoever he was, had had the guy he was fucking moan a different guy’s name as he came. “That guy from your band? _Seriously_?”

Yeah, Murata _definitely_ knew Akihiko somehow. Haruki did not dare speculate on how.

He _was_ aware, though, that his luck was running out. Something was going to give soon, and Haruki didn’t want to be in the middle of it. He backed out of the door as quietly and quickly as he could, and booked it to his car.

—★—

“Sorry I couldn’t come get the file,” Haruki started. He’d decided his strategy was pretending he hadn’t showed up at all, and sticking to his story until long after his and Akihiko’s kids had left for college. “Work ran late.”

“It’s fine,” Akihiko said. He tossed a pen drive at Haruki. “Here it is.”

Haruki snatched it out of the air, bouncing it in his palm. Akihiko’s eyes were tired, but there was a distinctly warm look in them. It gave Haruki the confidence necessary to ask, “Are you free after practice today?”

“Of course,” Akihiko said. “What kind of question.”

Haruki rolled his eyes, chest full of something pink and tentatively hopeful. “Wanna grab dinner?”

“Mafuyu and Uenoyama too?”

“Nope,” Haruki said giddily. “Just us.”

Akihiko grinned. “Sure.”

—★—

Mafuyu and Uenoyama had _vanished,_ and so had Akihiko, and they were due to be on the stage in twenty fucking minutes, and Haruki was losing his mind.

“Take-chan,” he called, walking quickly across the room. “Have you seen Akihiko around?”

“Akihiko?” a quiet, familiar-ish voice said. “Went out for a smoke, I think.”

“I checked outside already,” Haruki said, turning around. The guy was tall, wearing a blue turtleneck and dark jeans. Prettier than some sunsets. Very cute. _Not_ Haruki’s type.

Admittedly, for the past four years Haruki’s type had been set _firmly_ at Akihiko Kaji.

“That door,” the guy said, pointing. His voice was definitely familiar, although Haruki was too stressed to place it. “Want me to go get him?”

“Please,” Haruki said, relieved to have one person taken out of his hands. “Do I know you? Sorry, but you seem kind of familiar—”

“Looks like you boys have it covered?” Take-chan cut in. Haruki gave him a smile and a nod. Take-chan clapped his back and walked away as quickly as he’d come, calling for a sound tech to do a check on the mics for the drum.

“Ugetsu Murata,” the guy said. He had lovely grey eyes, and something in them reminded Haruki oddly of Mafuyu. If Mafuyu had been broken into pieces and then forced to carry the weight of the world, he may have looked like that. But no, the world had been kind to Mafuyu in ways he wouldn’t realize for years—it had not been similarly gentle with Ugetsu. “I’m here as Akihiko’s plus one. Went to high school with him.”

“Right,” Haruki said faintly. “I, uh. I still have to find two people, if you could just tell him to, uh—” He backed away slowly, pointing in the direction of the room Given had been put in.

“I’ll let him know,” Ugetsu Murata agreed. 

It wasn’t a surprise, really, that _this_ was the guy Akihiko was having sex with. He was pretty, and Akihiko had always had a thing for pretty, dangerous people. And if he was being held and fucked against his will he certainly did a fantastic job of making it look like anything but that, and Haruki didn't know whether to be relieved or even more worried. Instead he watched Ugetsu leave and then ran to the washroom. He needed a smoke more than anything, but right now he’d settle for a chance to wash his face and hopefully get rid of the stench of the copyright-pending godawful yaoi drama his life had turned into.

Mafuyu and Ritsuka were in the washroom, though. Mafuyu was leaning against the sink counter while Ritsuka carefully applied eyeliner to his face. He was doing a terrible job.

Haruki stretched out his fingers until the popped and said, “Give me that.” He nudged Ritsuka out of the way, grabbing the slender tube from his hands. “And you—wash your face. You look like that guy from the emo band Uenoyama likes.”

“‘Kay,” Mafuyu said, and turned to wash his face.

Haruki poked Ritsuka mercilessly in the shoulder. “Go find Akihiko. He’ll tell you what to do.”

—★—

“Did you know Akihiko had a boyfriend?” Ritsuka said, as they waited for their turn on stage.

Haruki paused on messing with the tuning of his bass, a bad habit brought on by nerves. “ _Boyfriend_?” he repeated faintly.

Akihiko and Mafuyu were standing ahead of them, frowning at their set list. Ritsuka made an impatient sound. “He got him here as his plus one. You know, black hair, grey eyes. He said you met him.”

“Boyfriend,” Haruki said again, aghast. His world had ground to a crushing halt. “You mean to tell me that he—” he pointed at Akihiko’s back. His stupid, stupid broad shoulders. “Is dating.”

“A guy,” Ritsuka completed. Then, “So you didn’t know.”

“No.” Haruki’s voice sounded strangled. “No, I didn’t know.”


End file.
